


Unspoken Thresholds

by Redring91



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace, BAMF Gabriel (Supernatural), Big Brother Gabriel, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Cursed Castiel, Dean Needs to Use Actual Words, Gabriel Being Gabriel, Love Confessions, M/M, Multilingual Castiel, Panicking Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Gabriel, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam is the Voice of Reason, Trickster Gabriel (Supernatural), Truth Spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 05:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12358446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redring91/pseuds/Redring91
Summary: -Sam and Dean find a case in Texarkana in which the victims of a truth spell are being murdered. The stakes become personal when Castiel is the next victim to be afflicted by the curse. And Gabriel’s involvement in any matter is never a straightforward agenda.-





	Unspoken Thresholds

**Author's Note:**

> -
> 
> I’ve always wanted to try a case fic. This took forever to write but I’m quite pleased with how it’s turned out.
> 
> After much debating, I decided to include the translations within the main narrative of the story, on the basis that they function the same as subtitles would. The languages are listed along with their translations in the end notes; I used the English letters for most of the words, given that they are being spoken, not written. And I relied on Google translate for the translations, so hopefully there are no major errors.
> 
> -

-

 

A young woman stands alone on a street corner, her anxious mood at odds with the upbeat music spilling out from the nearby bar. Her features are harshly illuminated by the overhead street light; her complexion is pale and her eyes are glassy and reddened, her mascara smudged badly in the wake of having recently been weeping. She is holding her mobile phone tightly in her hand, clearly conflicted about using it; she jerks in alarm when it rings. Then she bites her lip hard and does not answer.

 

When the phone rings a second time, she lifts it shakily to her ear. Her lip is bloody from where she has bitten through it and her voice cracks as she answers. “Hello?” She flinches upon hearing the voice on the other end. “It wasn’t my fault, Steph!” Her distress mounts as she continues to listen, and her next words are torn from her with anger. “You should ask your husband!” Her expression contorts with horror, but she cannot stop herself as she cries, “he was there! He saw the whole thing, and he did nothing to stop it!” She hangs up the phone with a sob and bites her lip again.

 

The street light above her flickers once. She mutes her phone and shoves it into her pocket, wrapping her jacket around herself. The street light begins to flicker erratically and she frowns. She takes a few steps down the street when a noise sounds out from an alleyway to her left. She falters, glancing around uneasily. “Hello?” There is another noise, closer this time, and it makes her take a step back.

 

There is a soft entreat of her name, whispered from behind her. “…Natalee.” A shadow descends upon her.

 

The light blows out, the rest of the street going dark just before she screams.

 

-

 

Sam begins laying out the news articles and other reference material they’ve already collected for this hunt on the motel table. He glances over to where Dean is on the phone to the local coroner’s office, and his expression indicates things are not off to a good start.

 

“I’ll be in to have a look tomorrow, first thing.” Dean says, pausing to listen. “Yeah, you too.” He ends the call and scowls at his phone before meeting Sam’s gaze wearily. “Turns out there was another body last night.”

 

Sam shuts his eyes and curses under his breath.

 

Dean startles slightly as his phone begins to ring in his hand but he answers it with a smile. “Hey, Cas. Yeah, we’re in Texarkana, Arkansas,” he begins, and he’s barely finished rattling off their motel and room number when Castiel appears beside him.

 

“Hello, Dean. Sam.”

 

“Hey.” Sam greets him. “Bobby said the other day that he was going to talk to you about some omens he was looking into. How did that go?”

 

“There was a demonic presence in the town he mentioned, though it was not related to the Apocalypse.” Castiel confirms. “It took me a little longer than it usually would to track the demon down, but I found it and dealt with it.”

 

Dean is satisfied with his covert inspection of the angel for injury. “Well if you’re not busy with anything else now, maybe you could give us a hand.” He suggests, aiming for nonchalant.

 

“Of course,” Cas agrees. “You’re in this town for a hunt?”

 

Sam nods. “There have been three,” – he corrects himself with a grimace – “four victims now, in Texarkana over the past month or so.” He gestures at his research and Cas moves over to peer down at it. “The first three victims showed symptoms that seem consistent with a truth spell, until they died, so we’re thinking it may be a witch.” Dean mutters resentfully under his breath about witches before Sam elaborates. “The first victim was a woman named Jennifer Peacock, who worked at a local jewellery store. She was reported to be behaving ‘brutally honest’ all morning, and then ten minutes after an argument with her colleagues they found her dead in the hallway.” Sam shifts some of his papers. “Then a little over a week ago, there were two more victims.”

 

“Both also mouthing off before they wound up dead.” Dean leans across to read over Sam’s shoulder. “Harry Deacon, found on the school football field. Then Norton Washington, killed the next day at his daughter’s home.”

 

“The school is in Texarkana, Texas.” Sam adds. “Like the first victim’s workplace. Victim three’s family live here in Arkansas.”

 

“Last night’s vic was found on this side of Texarkana too.” Dean says.

 

“How were they killed?” Castiel enquires.

 

“They all had their throats sliced open.” Dean answers. “Surgical-like precision, according to the coroner.”

 

“Odd.” Sam notes.

 

“He said there were a few things that were odd about the bodies.” Dean shifts his weight so he can lean around Sam to pick up one of the news articles. “He didn’t elaborate though; said he’d have the reports ready for tomorrow.”

 

“And we haven’t figured out _why_ they’re dying yet.” Sam acknowledges. “But clearly there’s some pretty powerful magic involved in the whole process.”

 

“You think you can pinpoint the source?” Dean asks Cas.

 

Castiel’s lips press together. “Possibly,” he hedges, his tone neutral. “If the witch is as powerful as you believe, there could be a resonance to their spells.”

 

“Even if you just find a ballpark area to search, that’d be good enough.” Dean encourages.

 

“Wait,” Sam interjects, realisation setting in. “You want to jump on this now?”

 

Dean glances at his brother. “I don’t see why not.”

 

“We don’t really know what we’re dealing with yet.” Sam points out reasonably.

 

Dean shrugs. “Has that ever stopped us before? If we can find the altar or even a hex bag, disrupt the witch’s plans, we can save the next victim. You know there’ll be another victim by tomorrow, if one hasn’t been chosen already. We don’t have time to wait around.” Dean claps his hand down on Castiel’s shoulder. “Besides, we’ve got angelic back up if things start to go south.”

 

Sam grudgingly concedes the point.

 

-

 

Dean is adamant about not letting Castiel zap them across town, so it’s early evening by the time they arrive in the Impala at the cemetery. “Anybody around?” Dean asks as he shuts the door. Cas shakes his head. “Let’s go then.”

 

Sam slowly shuts his own door. “Dean, wait. Something’s not right about this.”

 

Dean stops to frown at him as Castiel continues to walk towards the entrance of the cemetery. “What?”

 

Sam shifts his weight uncertainly. “What exactly are we looking for here?” This location is clearly not going to be the source of an altar. It also doesn’t fit with the usual site a witch would desire to practise from; the more skilled a witch, the greater their preference for their own comforts.

 

Dean shrugs slightly, harbouring misgivings of his own but unwilling to back down from his belief that this is still the best course of action.

 

“There _is_ power emanating from this area,” Castiel contributes gravely. “It is very old.”

 

Dean opens his mouth to respond but the words stick in his throat because as Castiel crosses beneath the archway into the cemetery grounds a musical note rings out in the air and the plants clinging to the metal arch glow brightly. The light emanating from them fades as the noise does. “Cas?” Dean reflexively takes a worried step forward but he knows better than to approach until they get the all clear. Castiel’s brow is furrowed as he inspects himself and then the archway.

 

“You okay, Cas?” Sam asks cautiously.

 

Castiel’s answer is immediate. “Being cut off from Heaven has been quite disconcerting.” The angel blinks. “I did not mean to say that,” he adds slowly, “but I could not prevent myself from doing so.”

 

Crap, Dean thinks, horror slowly mounting.

 

Sam looks grim. “So, probably not a witch then.”

 

-

 

A sprig of rosemary sits in a handkerchief on the table. Dean glares suspiciously at it.

 

“The plant is benign, Dean.” Castiel assures him. “It was merely a conduit for the power and there are no residual traces of it.”

 

Sam sighs, spreading out his research. “We should probably investigate the other sites for rosemary too. If it’s present at all the places the victims were affected then it may be a lead.”

 

“We should also investigate what factor of the truth spell led to their deaths.” Castiel says this very matter-of-factly, but his apparent composure is betrayed when he continues with, “I don’t want to die again.”

 

“Don’t worry, Cas.” Sam says quietly, aching with sympathy. “It’ll be okay.”

 

Dean feels panic beginning to mount. If they can’t solve this, Cas is going to be the next victim murdered. “You should go.” He says in a rush, causing them both to look over at him. “You should hide out on the other side of the world or something until we figure out what’s going on here.”

 

Castiel frowns. “I don’t want to leave you.” He looks unhappy, though it’s hard to tell if this is because of the suggestion or his own response. “But if that’s what you want, I’ll go.” The angel vanishes.

 

Dean presses his hands to the table to hide the fact they’re shaking. He looks at Sam. “How long do we have?”

 

Sam allows his concern to surface. “I don’t know. If, like we suspect, a new victim is chosen the day after the previous one dies, then the timings are all over the place. Some of the victims were cursed for weeks before they were killed; some were killed within hours. I just don’t know, Dean.”

 

Dean’s throat burns and he has to swallow before he can speak. “At least if Cas is out of here, he’ll be safe, right?”

 

Before Sam can respond, the sound of wings fills them both with dread.

 

Castiel looks more disconcerted than he did before. “I can’t leave this area. Specifically, Texarkana.”

 

“What?” Dean croaks.

 

“It was quite painful to collide with the barrier mid-flight.” Castiel admits almost dismissively before elaborating. “The barrier encloses both of the cities; Texarkana, Arkansas and Texas. I can cross between the two, but cannot breach the threshold surrounding them.” Castiel’s wary confusion over this unusual subtlety is evident. Texarkana; twice as nice, Dean thinks sardonically.

 

“Whoever _is_ responsible for these killings is clearly more powerful than we first thought.” Sam says, and remembers Castiel’s earlier assessment at the cemetery, about an old power. “Perhaps it’s a god or even a demigod.”

 

“Or a Trickster, maybe?” Dean asks flatly. “One that’s strong enough to overpower Cas.”

 

It takes Sam a moment to get what Dean is implying. “You think Gabriel’s involved in this?” He frowns. “I don’t know Dean, this doesn’t really seem like his style.” Sam glances over at his research notes. While the case does have some elements to it that could indicate a Trickster, it lacks Gabriel’s flair for dramatics.

 

“The last time I saw Gabriel, we argued briefly about our Father.” Castiel supplies. “But I believe he _was_ pleased to see me. He seemed – nostalgic.”

 

“We should still summon him, just to make sure.” Dean argues, glancing over to Sam for support. “And hell, if he didn’t do it, maybe he can undo whatever has been done to Cas.”

 

“It would make a nice change,” Castiel says wistfully, “to have one of my siblings offer to help me these days.” Cas keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he speaks, slightly discomfited by his own words.

 

Sam and Dean exchange glances and then set about making the preparations to summon the archangel. But when he appears they all immediately regret the decision; Gabriel is clearly already in a bad mood and his irritation worsens with his new surroundings.

 

“What do you knuckleheads want?” He snaps. “I have better things to do with my time than listen to you three whine about the Apocalypse.”

 

“This isn’t about that.” Sam says hastily, spreading his arms in a helpless-yet-harmless gesture.

 

“Cas is in trouble.” Dean interjects. “He needs help.”

 

“All of you need help,” Gabriel mutters before frowning at Castiel. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

 

“I am under compulsion to speak the truth.”

 

Gabriel snickers before looking briefly curious. “Compelled to speak or compelled to be truthful?”

 

“Both,” Castiel answers promptly.

 

“Clever.” Gabriel smirks like he approves. “Well, I can always duct tape your mouth shut again. What?” He mocks, as three disapproving stares are levelled at him. “You expected me to help?”

 

“No,” comes the truthful assessment. “It’s more likely you’ll exacerbate the situation for your own amusement.”

 

Sam winces uncomfortably. “Gabriel,” he begins, his tone appeasing.

 

Gabriel cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t bother. I’m outta here.”

 

Dean sneers. “ _Heaven_ forbid you actually stick around when your family’s in trouble.”

 

The archangel’s eyes flash with cold fury. “I can smite you where you stand, human.”

 

“You will do no such thing.” Castiel takes an automatic step forward, positioning himself between the two. “And you will have to go through me first to try it.”

 

“Tough words, baby bro.” Gabriel’s eyes glint wickedly then, his smile cruel. “Tell me; why ARE you so protective of Dean Winchester?”

 

Castiel twitches violently. As he opens his mouth, his expression is calculating. “Elasa om ol aziazor par.” {“You know I love him.”}

 

Gabriel’s eyes narrow. “Aren’t you a clever little one?” He croons dangerously. Then he straightens abruptly as an idea strikes him. “You know, I think you all need to be taught a lesson about communication.” He raises his hand ominously and before any of them can object, Gabriel snaps his fingers.

 

There is a tense silence. Dean breaks it, his tone accusing. “What did you do?”

 

Gabriel is wearing his sharp Trickster smile. “You two need to learn how to _listen_. And Castiel needs to learn that talking doesn’t mean you are always heard.”

 

A sharp spike of anger makes Dean take a step forward. “We don’t have time for your bullshit. People have died! Cas could be next!”

 

“If Castiel’s in trouble, it’s your own fault.” Gabriel snaps ruthlessly. “You’ve been screwing him over since he met you.”

 

Dean flinches at this and Castiel glowers. “Μην τον κατηγορείτε για πράγματα που είναι πέρα από τον έλεγχό του.” {“Do not blame him for things that are beyond his control.”}

 

Gabriel smirks as Sam and Dean blink in surprise.

 

Castiel tries to look at his own mouth and then frowns at Gabriel. “брат?” {“Brother?”} His voice is laden with suspicion. “что вы наделали?” {“What have you done?”}

 

“Thought we could play a little Russian – ha – roulette with your languages.” Gabriel explains faux-cheerfully. “After all,” his tone changes to a mocking imitation of Castiel, “it’s more likely I’ll exacerbate the situation for my own amusement.”

 

Castiel’s expression falls. Dean lays a hand on his shoulder, glaring at the archangel, who sneers in response.

 

“He’s your brother.” Sam points out softly.

 

“So are Michael and Lucifer. And you boys expect me to help you kill them, while you preach on about how family means everything to you.” Gabriel exhales in a huff before his expression changes, softening behind his eyes in a way that reminds Sam of the look he had given him before sending Sam back to that Wednesday at the Mystery Spot. Gabriel shakes his head at Castiel. “I can’t believe you got yourself cursed by a _minor god_ , you’re as bad as these two idiots.” They all startle at the hint and Gabriel levels a serious look at his brother. “I’ve bought you some time. You screw this up, I’m not going to come and help you. Understood?”

 

Once Castiel nods curtly, Gabriel vanishes.

 

-

 

About ten seconds after Dean is properly awake he points accusingly at the chair that the angel had been seated on last night, which _had_ been facing the table then, but is _now_ angled towards his bed instead. “Were you watching me sleep, again?”

 

“Ja.” {“Yes.”} Castiel replies defiantly, to which Dean splutters at. “Ich wollte dich gegen die Dämonen in deinen Albträumen bewachen.” {“I wanted to guard you against the demons in your nightmares.”}

 

Sam clears his throat and interjects. “I guess the best thing to do is to treat this like any other case. Cas was right last night: we need to find out more about how the truth spell was affecting the victims.” Sam very deliberately doesn’t look as Cas as he continues with, “and what led to their deaths.”

 

Dean makes an immediate decision then, encouraged by the fact that Sam will be uninterested in protesting, and Cas unable to. “We should divide and conquer. I’ll take the interviews in Arkansas; Sammy, you take the ones in Texas. And Cas can stay here and do some more research.”

 

Sam, who was nodding along, stops at this.

 

“It will be quicker.” Dean points out defensively, neglecting to mention it’s mainly just to keep Cas safe.

 

“Im geghets’ik pashtpan.” {“My beautiful protector.”} Castiel’s expression is inscrutable, but his tone is sincere. “Yes yerbek’ ch’yem zghja yntrelu k’yez.” {“I will never regret choosing you.”}

 

As Dean peers at him, trying to work out whether the angel is insulting him or not, Sam rolls his eyes. “Look, Cas, it would actually be helpful to cover off on some more research. If we focus on the victims, maybe you can try looking at anything we have to identify the god responsible for this.” Sam gestures towards the table. “The rosemary could be a good start, if we’re right about it being the conduit at the other sites as well.”

 

“And the weird barriers trapping you here.” Dean pulls a handful of maps out of his bag and dumps them on the table. He sets a hand on Castiel’s shoulder briefly and when he draws it back Cas speaks.

 

“Sana yakın olmayı severim.” {“I like to be close to you.”}

 

Dean laughs and shakes his head, patting Castiel’s shoulder once more. “You know, this is only slightly more confusing than having a normal conversation with you.”

 

Castiel just looks at him. “Ako biste me mogli razumjeti, biste li slušali?” {“If you could understand me, would you listen?”}

 

Sam looks thoughtful as he gathers his notes for the Texas related cases. “Maybe Gabriel’s little language trick is actually useful. If we don’t know what Cas is saying, maybe he can’t trigger the next part of the curse.”

 

Dean’s smile fades. “Let’s hope so.”

 

-

 

When Dean enters the morgue, a tired looking man greets him with a nod. “Agent Tyler? Liam Donohoe; we spoke yesterday on the phone.” He offers Dean four small folders. “Here are the autopsy reports you asked for. The wounds are practically identical across all four victims.”

 

“This is the most recent victim?” Dean gestures to the covered body on the stretcher.

 

Liam nods. “Natalee McGowan. Found near an alleyway, as I mentioned.” He eases back the sheet, letting it fold over across her chest. There is a clean line that runs along her neck, vertical rather than horizontal; it actually starts just beneath her bottom lip, curving down her chin and underneath her jaw, down to the top of her breastbone.

 

“That’s different.” Dean can’t help but observe.

 

Liam sighs. “It gets stranger. This incision appears to have been made from the inside, which is impossible. And her vocal colds are missing.”

 

“Missing? You mean they were removed?”

 

“Not from a medical perspective. I actually mean missing. There’s no damage to the larynx, thyroid, or any of the surrounding muscle, which you would have to tear through in order to reach the vocal folds. But apart from this” – he points at the line on her neck – “she has no other injuries, except for where she’s bitten through her lip.” Liam touches a gloved finger to the wounded area. “This was unique to her, and my guess is she had been biting it hard for at least a week, for this not to have healed.” He draws his hand away and shakes his head. “I don’t understand how the entire vocal folds can just be absent. No trace of muscle fibres, blood vessels, no membranes.”

 

Dean really doesn’t want to ask the question, but knows he has too. “How did she die?”

 

“As far as I can tell, the shock killed her. But I don’t really have a better answer than that, under these circumstances.”

 

Liam leaves Dean to examine the body for as long as he needs, but Dean doesn’t see what more he can learn from it. He can barely look at the lifeless young woman without imagining Cas in her place and he feels sick.

 

-

 

Sam sees the rosemary as he moves up the stairs towards the door of the jewellery store. It’s woven into the garden bed on either side of where the stairs meet the pathway in front of the entrance. He snaps a few quick photos of the plants before he enters. The store manager, Ian, is clearly uneasy about his presence and says that while he refuses to speak about the status of the business without his lawyer present, his remaining employee will answer any questions he has about Miss Peacock’s death.

 

The employee is a dejected woman named Haley Underwood. “Three of us have worked for Mr Ware for about two years now.” She tells him shakily. “Caitlin’s been on maternity leave for a couple months, so it’s just been me and Jenny.” She twists her handkerchief in her fingers. “Jenny loved the job. She always worked really hard; she was hoping to have her own business one day.” Haley’s eyes grow wet and she wipes at them.

 

“Take your time.” Sam says softly.

 

Haley takes a shuddering breath. “The few weeks… _before_ …she’d been a little stressed. We both were. But since Caitlin usually does the annual audit Jenny took that on, on top of her other work. She must have been so upset when she found out…”

 

“About the fraud?” Sam prompts carefully, recalling the manager’s snide words. At Haley’s nod, he asks her about the day Jennifer died.

 

“She was _off_ , all morning.” Haley recounts dully. “Little things, that weren’t like her. Telling me she hated my shirt; that she was living off noodles that week so she could pay her water bill; that she can’t stand wearing black because she felt it made her look fat.” Haley sniffs. “She was under a lot of pressure that day.”

 

“Can you tell me what happened?”

 

Haley wipes at her face again. “Mr Ware had a meeting with the district manager; he visits the stores for the audit. Jenny took some spreadsheets into them; that’s when she accused Mr Ware of defrauding the company. There was some shouting, then they all came out here. Mr Spencer – the district manager – he said there would be an investigation into the claims. Jenny – Jenny said she had found evidence going back five years. Five! Mr Spencer was so angry.” She gestures towards the front door. “He headed outside, and Mr Ware followed. Jenny stayed in here. I – I went out too. I didn’t know what to do; I just stood on the steps and watched them argue.” Haley hiccups. “A few minutes later we heard Jenny screaming. She stopped before I reached the door, and when we all got back inside, she – she was…” Haley buries her face in her hands.

 

“I know this is difficult for you.” Sam reassures her sympathetically. “I won’t be too much longer. Can I ask where you found her?” Haley points shakily towards the open doorway that leads into the back offices. She can’t really bring herself to look at the spot. “When you heard her scream, how long was it before you found her?”

 

Haley wrinkles her nose. “Not even a minute. The police couldn’t understand it.” She turns her head towards the camera that covers the main office. “She was standing in a blind spot so no one could see what happened, but there was no one else in the store.”

 

The god works fast during the assault, Sam considers uneasily, materialising and killing their victim almost instantly. “You said Jenny was behaving strangely. Did her behaviour start that morning, or had it been happening before then?”

 

A shake of the head follows his query. “She was fine the day before. I guess it started the moment after she arrived; that’s when she mentioned my top. I’d worn it before and she’d never said anything about it.”

 

Sam recalls the rosemary just outside the front entranceway. “Was there anything that struck you as odd at the time? Something you may have saw or heard; even a small detail can be useful.”

 

Haley mulls over this for a little while. “There _was_ a strange sound when Jenny walked in, something musical. I thought it was maybe her phone or something. Does that help?”

 

Sam assures her that it does and thanks her before wrapping up the interview with an offer of condolences. As he leaves he worries about whether what he has learned so far will be as helpful as he made it out to be.

 

-

 

Stephanie Sadler shows him into the living room and Dean refrains from commenting on the décor beyond saying “nice place you have here.” The living room is arranged like a show home, down to the three magazines strategically placed on the coffee table and the six decorative cushions that adorn each couch. It takes him a moment to work out how to sit down without dislodging them.

 

“Thank you.” She brushes non-existent lint from one of the cushions at his elbow, adjusting it slightly in the process, before sitting on the couch opposite him. “What do you need to know?”

 

“Let’s start with what happened that night.” Dean suggests.

 

“We went out for dinner; me, my sister, my husband, and my brother-in-law, Paul. Natalee was being unreasonable, as usual. She was sullen and uncomfortable all evening; kept saying she was unhappy and wanted to leave.” Stephanie pauses, taking a breath to calm herself. “We started talking about ordering dessert; Paul said he deserved to treat himself, and Natalee flipped out. She shoved him away so she could get out of her chair and just started ranting at him. She wasn’t making any sense.”

 

“What did she say?” Dean prompts when Stephanie doesn’t elaborate.

 

“ _She wasn’t making any sense._ ” Stephanie repeats insistently, and Dean wonders how many times the woman has had to tell herself this to believe it. “Then she just stormed out, crying.”

 

“You need to tell me what she said.” Dean said firmly, but not unkindly. “It’s important.”

 

Stephanie huffs in displeasure but concedes. “Before she left the restaurant she said Paul had tried to kiss her the last time he was over, which is ridiculous. I loved my little sister, but she did tend to exaggerate. No, she must have been mistaken about whatever she had thought had happened.” She examines her fingernails. “I called her, to try and sort out the misunderstanding. But when she finally answered, she just told me more lies; that Richard had seen it and did nothing.”

 

Dean grits his teeth together, thinking of the poor woman on the morgue stretcher. “Your husband just watched while –”

 

“He wouldn’t do that.” She interrupts. Her eyes are glassy and her tone more desperate than determined. “Richard wouldn’t do that.”

 

“Okay.” Dean placates her. “I hear you. Look, can you tell me when Natalee’s ‘unreasonable’ behaviour started?”

 

Stephanie finds this a far easier topic to discuss. She confirms it began a week ago and when he asks where Natalee might have been around that time, Stephanie gives him directions to what had been Natalee’s favourite bar. It’s located fairly close to where she was killed, so he decides to check it out.

 

-

 

Castiel is leaning over the table, using a red marker to indicate the boundaries of the area he is currently constrained within on the maps, when Gabriel appears in the chair opposite him. He kicks his feet casually up onto the table as he leans back. “Hey.” He says brightly.

 

Castiel is neither impressed nor amused. “Você é uma criança petulante.” {“You are a petulant child.”}

 

“Come on now.” Gabriel refutes. “It could be much worse.”

 

“Arra számítasz, hogy hálás vagyok?” {“Do you expect me to be grateful?”} Castiel scowls at him. “Nem vagyok hálás.” {“I’m not grateful.”}

 

Gabriel laughs. He pulls the sprig of rosemary towards him and turns it over in his fingers, his smile twisting strangely. “An Angel of the Lord; compromised by a plant.” His gaze cuts back up to Castiel. “I could make a bad pun about your heart being compromised first, but I won’t. You can be grateful for that.”

 

Castiel straightens, twirling the marker in his hand like he would his angel blade. “De ce esti aici?” {“Why are you here?”}

 

“Relax.” Gabriel gets to his feet, dropping the herb back onto the table. “I just wanted to ask you something. And, yeah, I am kinda taking advantage of the situation here. But the answer’s important to me.” Gabriel examines him solemnly. “Castiel. Are you falling?”

 

Distress flickers across Castiel’s expression as his mouth betrays him. “Oui.” {“Yes.”}

 

Gabriel closes his eyes. He vanishes.

 

-

 

When Dean arrives at the address where the third victim was killed, there’s a young man outside the front dumping trash bags into the bins by the fence. He turns as Dean approaches him. “Rupert Kinsley?” At the man’s nod he identifies himself as an agent, showing his badge. “I have a few questions about your grandfather’s death.”

 

“Of course, sure.” Rupert agrees. As he directs Dean to follow him down the side of the house, the rosemary that adorns the gate does not go unnoticed, but when Dean casually asks about its placement Rupert frowns. “I don’t know, actually. It wasn’t there when I did the gardening a few weeks ago, so I guess mom put it in since.” He leads Dean through the back door and moves into the kitchen.

 

Dean declines the offer of a coffee. “Can you run me through what happened?”

 

“We’d all gotten together for a family lunch, we usually have one every month or so. Mom and dad had gone to the shops to get a few last minute things. The rest of us were outside.” Rupert gestures to the alfresco. At Dean’s expectant look, he clarifies. “My sister Pearl, her girlfriend Marianne Baumer, and granddad. It was all pretty normal, at first. Pearl and Mari were helping me prep the food and move it out to the table. Grandad hadn’t really been doing much, just sitting in his chair with a beer. I asked him to take the trash out to the bins at the front. He grumbled but agreed, same as always.” Rupert wraps his hands around his coffee mug, frowning. “Everything happened so fast after that.”

 

Dean thinks of the rosemary, positioned at the gate that Norton would have walked through to reach the bins. “That’s when he started behaving…odd?”

 

Rupert nods slowly. “As he came back he started ranting. He said awful things about Pearl and Mari. I mean, we knew he was homophobic – the whole family knew – but he’d never said a word against Pearl before, not even when she and Mari started dating.” Rupert’s expression darkens a moment. “The things he was saying about them. It was clear _he_ believed it.” Rupert sighs, letting his bitter fury drain away to be replaced with quiet resolution. “I seriously thought he was going to hurt them.”

 

“He threatened the girls?” Dean asks.

 

Rupert shrugs a shoulder. “The more he spoke, the angrier and louder he got. Grandad was a fan of corporal punishment, he always used to say mum should’ve hit us more as kids, so when he starting shouting that their souls deserved to burn in hell, well, I wanted them as far away from him as possible.”

 

Dean takes a deep breath, determined to focus on the case. His kneejerk reaction of self-depreciation at the mention of souls that deserve to burn in hell is easily suppressed when he pictures the sad, disappointed frown Castiel usually sends him for it. Cas, who needs him right now. Dean exhales and checks his notes. “You moved your sister and Miss Baumer inside then?”

 

Rupert confirms this and recounts how he had intended to have the two women lock themselves in the bathroom. “We’d barely reached the hallway when grandad screamed. It was definitely more afraid than angry. There was a heavy thump, and then it was silent.” Rupert swivels his mug around a few times before raising it to his lips. When he lowers it again he continues, stating that only once he was sure the girls were secure in the bathroom did he return to check on his grandad. “He was still outside, just lying there, eyes open and his throat…he was a cruel man, and a bigot, but he didn’t deserve that.” Rupert sighs miserably. “You’re going to catch the one who did this, right?”

 

Dean thinks of Cas again and swears that he will. Rupert seems reassured by Dean’s conviction. Dean wishes he did.

 

-

 

The principal greets Sam at the door of her office with a firm handshake. “You must be Agent Perry.” She gestures for him to enter and shuts the door behind him.

 

“Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Bates.”

 

“Helena, please.” She offers him a sad smile. “It’s such a terrible tragedy. We’ll do whatever we can to help.”

 

Sam thanks her again before asking, “what can you tell me about Harry?”

 

“He was an active boy; he preferred spending his time out on the field rather than in the classroom.” Helena leafs through the papers in the file on her desk before pulling out a printed newsletter article about athletics and sliding it across to Sam, tapping her finger to where Harry stands in the team photograph. “He was a talented footballer, always jonesing for the captaincy. But given his record, the coach was advised to award the position to someone more suitable last semester.”

 

Sam considers the teenager smirking out of the photo. “He was in trouble often?”

 

Helena grimaces in the awkward way that people tend to when having to speak ill of the recently deceased. “He had several minor infractions for bullying over the last few years, which were managed as isolated incidents. But his behaviour in the weeks before his death was noticeable worse than before.” She shakes her head. “Harry had always been a tad arrogant, but never that outspoken. He spent three weeks being cruel to everyone around him, even his teammates were subjected to it. His teachers documented most of it.”

 

“And you were the last one to speak with Harry, before he was found?”

 

Helena confirms this. “I called him in to discuss his behaviour, and to inform him that he was going to be suspended until further notice. He was very aggravated. When he left my office it was to go to the field. The school had just gone for lunch, so there were plenty of students in the halls to attest to that, but no one saw any more of Harry once he reached the field. That’s where Frank – his coach – found him about half an hour later.”

 

“Before he left, was there anything odd about the way he was acting?” Sam asks. “Something different than anything else he may have said during those last few weeks?”

 

Helena pauses thoughtfully. “There was one thing he said which I thought was strange, but I don’t know how important it may be. When I reminded him that the suspension would cover the Hawk’s planned post-match barbeque, he told me that it hardly mattered because he was a vegetarian anyway. It seemed an odd argument to make, especially given how pro-meat the whole team usually is. But it was the last thing he said before he headed out.”

 

Admittedly, this was not what Sam had been expecting. He asks to see where Harry was found and Helena asks her receptionist to call Coach Seymour to her office. They don’t have to wait long until he turns up. Helena shakes Sam’s hand again and he follows the coach towards the football field. After about three minutes in Coach Seymour’s company, Sam understands why Harry hadn’t been previously reprimanded in his athletics for being a bully; the man seems to be the kind of teacher that probably makes most of the kids here feel that their school is far less pleasant than advertised.

 

“Found him here.” Frank grunts as he points. “On the twenty yard line, blood down his front.” He sniffs. “Kid got what he deserved if you ask me. A real man would’ve fought ‘em off, not ended up on his back.”

 

Sam holds his tongue through sheer force of will and exhales sharply. “I think I can handle it from here, Coach.” Once the man has stalked off, Sam pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Cas before dialling his brother. “Hey.”

 

_“Hey. You done there?”_

 

“Yeah. And it looks like we were right about the rosemary; I saw it in the garden beds outside the front of the jeweller’s and the entrance to the school.

 

_“It was growing at the house where victim number three was too, near the gate. And I went to the bar where our latest victim was a regular. It was close to where she was killed but the bartender says she didn’t go in that night. He_ did _say she_ was _there the night she would have been hit with the truth spell. And what do you know; I found rosemary there too. There are two potted plants outside, one on each side of the gap in the fence along the road, in front of the door. There was rosemary in both of them.”_

 

“So we have rosemary present at all the sites where the victims were cursed.” This was something at least. “Did you let Cas know?”

 

_“…yeah.”_

 

Sam frowns at the quiet concern in his brother’s voice. “He’s going to be okay, Dean. We’ll figure this out.” He waits for an acknowledgement, but Dean stays silent for a little too long and then hangs up without another word.

 

-

 

When the brothers arrive back at the motel room Castiel has his hand out in front of him, the rosemary sitting in the centre of his palm – on fire. Dean, already on edge and extremely paranoid about any harm befalling the angel, momentarily panics. “Cas! What the hell?!” Simultaneously, Sam asks, with his alarm far more controlled, “what are you doing?”

 

Castiel gives Dean one of his impressive I-am-an-Angel-of-the-Lord stares as he responds. “Un rito de purificación.” {“A rite of purification.”}

 

“Purification rite?” Sam hedges as he shuts the door, watching as Castiel tilts his hand to let the flaming herb drop into a small bowl filled with an amber liquid. The flame turns blue as it continues to burn. Castiel nods as he extends his palm to Dean for inspection, an act clearly meant to placate him, and Dean scrutinises it closely while muttering quietly about heart attack inducing shenanigans. Sam ignores his brother’s dramatics in favour of skimming over the maps Cas had been working on. When he looks up Dean is still poking and prodding at Castiel’s palm. “You can hold hands later, Dean.” Sam says in amusement, which only grows when Dean flails slightly as he immediately puts distance between himself and the angel. When his brother scowls at him, Sam schools his features into a blank, innocent mask, and turns to Castiel. “Cas, did you find any lore connecting rosemary and a truth spell?”

 

Cas keeps his gaze on Dean for a moment longer. “Napenda kushikilia mkono wako.” {“I would like to hold your hand.”} Then he reaches for one of the open textbooks on the table, turning it around to face the brothers. “Hakuna mengi hapa. Hakuna faraja katika hili ama.” {“There is not much here. There is no comfort in this either.”} The pages he has open allude to an obscure ancient ceremony in which worshippers made an ‘offering of honesty’ to their deity. An illustration depicts a human sacrifice bound in chains decorated with what appears to be calligraphy, light spilling from their mouth. The victim is grasping a bouquet in their hands that matches the ring of flowering herbs that surrounds them, and a crowd of worshippers genuflect before a generic statue that has a ball of glowing light in the centre of its chest. The caption beneath the image does not offer a description in the usual sense; instead it merely states ‘rosemary heralds those chosen to be spirited unto the hands of the dead.’

 

“This certainly looks like it relates to our case.” Sam agrees, impressed that Castiel had found something so quickly. He sits down in one of the seats and pulls the book towards him for a closer look. Feeling cautiously optimistic for the first time since the angel was cursed, he offers the opinion that caption seems to be a generalisation rather than a specific element of the one ritual. “I guess rosemary became a fairly popular trend for sacrificial ceremonies during that era.”

 

Dean latches on to this speculation, tearing his gaze away from the book. “Well you know what they say.” He jokes feebly. “When in Rome.”

 

Castiel cants his head thoughtfully. “Roma,” he echoes. He moves across the room and pulls a weathered book free of the stack that sits on the edge of the counter. He opens it up and begins to meticulously browse through the pages. “Dean, sei un genio. Canto le tue lodi.” {“Dean, you are a genius. I sing your praises.”} A small smile is directed at the elder Winchester as he speaks. “Le mie ali cantano con i colori della mia fede in te. Eppure la mia musica non riesce ancora a catturare la bellezza del tuo cuore.” {“My wings sing with the colours of my faith in you. Yet my music still fails to capture the beauty of your heart.”}

 

Dean is pretty certain that Cas is doing that thing he does where he offers up compliments that Dean in no way deserves. He clears his throat and shifts slightly. “Uh. Yeah, okay then.”

 

After a few minutes of searching Castiel finds the information he was after and sets the book down on the table. The heading scrawled across the top of the page informs them that they are looking at a copy of the indigitamenta of the Roman pantheon. Castiel slowly runs his finger over the list of names until he gets about two thirds of the way down. “Farinus.” He states deliberately. The blue flame still burning in the ornate bowl crackles as if in emphasis, lending gravitas to his declaration.

 

Sam peers over at the entry Cas is indicating. “Farinus,” he reads. “He who enables speech.”

 

“Sounds like our guy.” Dean glowers at the printed name. “Fits with the whole truth spell curse at least.” And now that they know his name they can summon him, and then they can gank him, and then Cas will be safe. But he is determined not to repeat his earlier mistake of walking into a trap. “So. What have we got then? Do we know enough to go after this son of a bitch now?”

 

Sam considers the question, ticking points off his fingers as he summarises. “Well, we know the god initiates the spell using the rosemary. The spell compels the victim to speak truths.”

 

Castiel interjects, gesturing to indicate himself. “Прокляття є досить потужним, щоб зв'язати падаючого ангела.” {“The curse is powerful enough to bind a falling angel.”} Then he points at the maps. “мої рухи обмежені.” {“My movements are limited.”}

 

“The victim can’t leave Texarkana.” Dean guesses.

 

“Cas is probably the only one who tried,” Sam points out. “But it’s safe to assume that was the case for all of them.” He frowns slightly. Something about that aspect of this curse bugs him, but he puts it aside to focus on the more important issue. “Something then acts as a trigger, and the god attacks them.”

 

“Removing their vocal cords and killing them.” Dean’s tone is grim. “But we don’t know what the trigger is.”

 

“And until we do, we shouldn’t confront Farinus. We don’t want to risk him deliberately triggering Cas during the fight.”

 

Cas looks over at Sam. “Anata wa totemo yoi tomodachidesu, Samu. Tokiniha watashi wa anata no yasashi-sa ni ataishinai to shinjite imasu. Shikashi, watashi wa anata o shitte ureshīdesu.” {“You are a very good friend, Sam. Sometimes I believe I do not deserve your kindness. But I’m glad to know you.”} The words are softly spoken and Sam is disappointed that he doesn’t know what they mean. He wonders if Cas will tell him later if he asks.

 

“Time hasn’t been a factor, so it’s got to be something they say.” Dean suggests, thinking about his interviews. “Maybe it’s only when they say something truly horrible about someone?”

 

“Не ми говорете за останалите ангели тогава.” {“Do not speak to me about the other angels then.”} Castiel grumbles under his breath. “Те могат да бъдат моето семейство, но те са невежи. особено Zakhariya.” {“They may be my family, but they are ignorant. Especially Zachariah.”} An unhappy furrow creases his forehead. “Песента му ще стане симфония на мълчание, когато постигнем победа.” {“His song will become a symphony of silence when we achieve victory.”}

 

Dean smiles weakly at the name of Cas’s douche ex-boss tangled amidst his disgruntled muttering, before continuing to expand on his theory. “Both of the last two victims were fighting with their family about some pretty serious stuff. And the first victim was badmouthing her boss, wasn’t she?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam says slowly. “But I don’t think it’s as simple as that Dean. The high schooler was insulting everyone for weeks before he died.”

 

Dean’s expression falters. “Oh yeah.”

 

But Sam doesn’t look discouraged. “Actually, we’re probably still on the right track.” He relays to the other two what he had thought at the jewellery store, about how fast the god had worked. “So let’s go over the very last thing that each victim said, see if we can find a connection.”

 

“Natalee told her sister the husband witnessed her abuse.” Dean recounts. “The grandfather was yelling at his granddaughter, saying her soul deserved to burn in hell.” He keeps his tone as steady as possible but it doesn’t seem to matter because, right on cue, there is Castiel’s sad frown.

 

“Aap abhee bhee vishvaas nahin karate hain ki aap bachat ke laayak hain.” {“You still do not believe that you are worth saving.”} The angel says forlornly. “Lekin tum to.” {“But you are.”}

 

Dean falters. _“What’s the matter?”_ Castiel had asked him the night they met, in that same tone of voice. _“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”_

 

Castiel doesn’t hold Dean’s gaze this time, glancing away as he is compelled to fill the silence after only a few moments. “Lilhifaz ealaa ruhk aminata, wa'awadu 'ana alsamah 'ajnahati harq.” {“To keep your soul safe, I would let my wings burn.”} He remarks quietly.

 

“Look, can we talk about hellfire and salvation later?” Dean mutters awkwardly. He turns towards Sam and gestures purposefully, trying to keep the conversation on track. “What about your two victims?”

 

Sam refers to his notes. “Jenny exposed her manager’s fraud as having gone on five years.” Then he frowns. Slowly he says, “but Harry told his principal he was a vegetarian.”

 

Dean looks dumbfounded. “Seriously?”

 

Sam shrugs slightly, still frowning. “It sounded like his team wouldn’t have been very impressed with his secret.” He snaps his head up to look at them, the thought blinking into life like a neon lightbulb. “Guys. What if it’s a confession?”

 

Dean considers this. This theory fits for the first two victims, and the latest, but he’s not so sure about the third. According to the grandson the whole family had known that Norton had been homophobic. As he relays this to the other two, he remembers something else. “But he told me his grandfather hadn’t ever said anything specifically hateful about his sister before. So if the victim had told his granddaughter he thought she should burn in hell – ”

 

“ – then that could be considered a confession too.” Sam concludes. “Even if they all knew, he had never _said_ anything before, never voiced it aloud. Maybe that was enough.”

 

“Cor meum tuum est.” {“My heart is yours.”} Castiel whispers in sudden realisation, the words almost soundless.

 

His voice is so quiet that Dean doesn’t hear him from where he’s standing on the other side of the table. Sam is closer but he only catches half of the sentence and peers at him, equal parts puzzled and concerned. He is sure what he had heard had been Latin for ‘my heart.’ “Cas?” He ventures carefully. “You okay?”

 

Cas is staring at Dean, his expression becoming wide-eyed and terrified. Dean shoves down a spike of his own panic. “What? What is it?”

 

“Iedereen weet het.” {“Everybody knows.”} Cas says hoarsely. “Maar ik liet het onuitgesproken tussen ons.” {“But I left it unspoken between us.”}

 

Sam and Dean exchange a bewildered glance. When Dean raises a hand, intending to reach out across the table to place it on Cas’s arm, Cas jerks back in alarm.

 

“Nǐ shì wǒ fēicháng zhòngyào de rénwù.” {“You are my very important person.”} He enunciates unwillingly as he takes another few steps back. “Wǒ zhīdào nǐ bùxiǎng ràng wǒ gàosù nǐ. Wǒ zhēnxī nǐ de xìngfú chāoguò wǒ zìjǐ. Suǒyǐ wǒ bǎochí chénmò.” {“I know you do not want me to tell you. I cherish your happiness over my own. So I keep silent.”} Cas begins to pace back and forth across the far side of the room, growing more agitated with each passing moment.

 

Sam puts his notes down and gets to his feet. “Dean,” he murmurs uneasily. “Something’s wrong.” Dean takes half a step forward but he doesn’t say anything.

 

“Chimmug-eun hyeonjae bulganeunghada. Nae jeongjig-eun gangbag-ida. Naneun neoege malhaeya hae.” {“Silence is currently impossible. My honesty is a compulsion. I have to tell you.”} Cas shudders violently, visibly attempting to fight back the curse for the first time since he was affected. It doesn’t work of course. “Światło mojej łaski błyszczy z moim uczuciem dla ciebie.” {“The light of my grace shines with my affection for you.”}

 

Something is definitely wrong. Cas is beginning to burn through languages much faster than he had before, barely a pause between the two last bilingual sentences. “Castiel.” Dean barks firmly, and the use of his full name gets the angel’s attention immediately. He halts his pacing to fix his eyes on Dean. “You need to calm down.”

 

“Chcem ťa pobozkať. Chcem… _cítim_.” {I want to kiss you. I want… _I feel_.”} Castiel places emphasis on the word as though unable to help himself. “Mám pocity pre teba.” {“I have feelings for you.”} Both the angel’s tone and expression is almost desperate, a peculiar mixture of fervour and fear.

 

Dean shakes his head helplessly. “Cas, I don’t understand.”

 

“I love you, Dean. I’m _in_ love with you!”

 

Everyone freezes.

 

For a moment the only sound is the sharp crackling of embers as the purification flame begins to die down. Sam remains entirely still, barely even daring to breathe as though any form of motion will render the moment over and force the next one to begin.

 

“What.” Dean croaks, staring at Cas uncomprehendingly.

 

And Castiel stares back for a brief instant, his eyes overbright with anxious sorrow. There is a hushed rustle of feathers and Cas disappears.

 

-

 

Castiel is an Angel of the Lord, a soldier of Heaven, a warrior of God, and therefore is not having a panic attack at the thought of those important and treasured words having been uttered to Dean without his own volition. He certainly has not taken flight like a cowering fledging, fleeing at the mere possibility that Dean is wholly unready to hear his sentiments voiced. And it absolutely does not make his true form quiver anxiously, the thought that Dean may prefer to send him away, banish him from his presence, rather than acknowledge what Castiel feels.

 

All of the bulbs in the streetlights within his vicinity flare up brightly in tandem, the filaments beginning to overheat as his grace fluctuates wildly at his distress. Car alarms go off in the surrounding streets, one after the other. He takes several slow breaths, trying to calm the racing pulse of his vessel as he pulls his grace in tightly. He gazes across the road at the small street sign that reads ‘N State Line Ave’ and watches the glow across the white letters lessen as the lights dim back to normal levels.

 

He just stands there and breathes, closing his eyes despondently. He doesn’t know what to do.

 

The street light above him flickers once. His eyes snap open. He abruptly remembers why he has found himself in this situation in the first place. The street light begins to flicker erratically and he frowns. He takes a few steps forward when a noise sounds out from an indistinct direction, seemingly echoing all around him. He stops, glancing around uneasily as he shakes his blade out into his hand. There is another haunting noise, louder this time, and it makes him tense for a confrontation.

 

There is a soft entreat of his name, whispered from behind him. “…Castiel.” A shadow descends upon him.

 

All of the lights blow out, the whole street going dark as his grace screams.

 

-

 

They both try calling his phone several times but it just keeps ringing out. They both try praying too, but no matter what they say Cas doesn’t return. After neither of them continues to get a response they try to summon him. When this fails to work they realise that the god must have him.

 

“He’s not dead, right?” Dean whispers hoarsely. The words are hollow.

 

“No.” Sam says as firmly as he can, trying to sound like he believes it. Castiel is an angel. Surely the god wouldn’t be able to kill him as easily as the previous human victims.

 

They formulate a plan fairly quickly, the process of having something to take action on helping them to avoid thinking about what may have happened to Cas. They set up in an abandoned warehouse, drawing a pattern referenced in the book Cas had found on the floor with white chalk. At the tip of the design Sam places the bowl that Cas had been using for the purification rite, now filled with a sticky resin that had been produced after the flame had burnt itself out.

 

“Did you know?” Dean asks suddenly.

 

Sam tries to avoid his gaze, turning the page of the book to the chant that needs to be recited to finish the ritual that will summon the god. They haven’t spoken about it, about what Cas had said before he had left. He’s both surprised and not that it’s taken Dean this long to broach the subject.

 

“Sam.” More firmly, Dean repeats. “Did. You. Know?”

 

Sam sighs, straightens, and looks at his brother. “He gave up Heaven for you, Dean.” He says quietly. “I suspected.” He pauses. “Did _you_ know?”

 

Dean looks away. There is quiet for a few minutes. Then Sam clears his throat and recites the chant.

 

“Méso tou dórou tis omilías, sas kaloúme. Me tis léxeis pou mas dósate, sas periorízoume. Me to refstó tis zoís kai tis flóges tis katáras mas, sas diatázoume. Kathós ta chéria aftá simadéftikan gia to thánato, tóra sas kratoún edó. Méchri na érthei o thánatos ston tópo aftó.” {“Through the gift of speech, we invite you. With the words you gave us, we restrict you. With the fluid of life and the flames of our curse, we command you. As these hands were marked for death, they now hold you here. Until death comes to this place.”}

 

When Sam finishes speaking, the resin in the bowl glows a bright orange. The sigils drawn in fresh blood on each of the four sides of the chalk pattern become backlit with a white light. Thin beams of that light, almost like thread, stretch out to connect each sigil to its neighbours, enclosing the chalk pattern within a diamond. When the diamond has finished forming, both it and the sigils are burnt into the floor and the chalk pattern turns orange to match the colour of the resin. There is a piercing musical note that cuts through the air, similar to the one that they had heard at the cemetery. When the sound ends, a man has materialised within the diamond, standing at the very centre of the chalk pattern.

 

Dean greets the god coldly. “Farinus.”

 

The man eyes the brothers with mild disinterest, seemingly unconcerned by his imprisonment. He is a tall and handsome man with bronze skin, his jet black hair slicked back and his beard cropped close. His attire is comprised entirely of expensive silk garments, the fabric dyed a rich purple and accented with golden borders. He gives them a patronising smile. “Have you lost an angel, little humans?”

 

All of Dean’s careful composure shatters instantly. He lurches forward, only halted by Sam’s fierce grip on his jacket. “Where is he, you dick?!” But Farinus merely smiles pleasantly.

 

Sam manages to pull Dean back. Once he is sure that Dean isn’t going to recklessly attempt to come within reach of the god, Sam addresses him. “Return Castiel to us and we’ll consider letting you go.”

 

“You shouldn’t lie to a wordsmith. The spoken word _is_ my domain.” He tuts lightly and shakes his head, as if rebuking a young child for their ignorance. He then seems to dismiss them entirely, his tone turning thoughtful. “Castiel. _Castiel._ I knew the very moment that Castiel identified me, when he spoke my name. I must concede a degree of admiration towards him; he very nearly had me concerned. But despite his constant _antimeria_ , he still fell prey to the liminality.” Farinus tilts his chin slightly, the gesture strikingly pious. “The risk of discovery was certainly worth it. Human lives are so fleeting, their lone voices so fruitless. But an angel? Talk about real power.” A flash of sadistic pleasure passes across his expression. “Such sweet satisfaction.”

 

Dean has to turn away, practically vibrating with fury. Cas is fine, he tells himself desperately. Cas is okay, he’s _still alive_ , this guy’s just messing with them.

 

Sam closes his eyes, fighting for calm. When he opens them again he keeps his tone level, almost business-like. “Where is Castiel?”

 

Farinus ignores the question and peers down at the bowl on the floor in front of him, idly examining its contents. “Ah, he burnt through the rosemary to purify the resin. Insightful.” He looks up at both Winchesters again, a clinical smile curling at his lips. “I cultivate the rosemary with such care, you know.” He says this almost conversationally but the way he chuckles, low and dark, raises their hackles as it promises to deliver something unpleasant. “It’s important to sustain that balance between potency and freshness.” Farinus leers at them. “Else it’s impossible to preserve the food.”

 

Silence echoes for a few moments. As soon as Dean processes the implication of this he raises his gun and shoots the god square in the centre of his chest. Farinus rocks back slightly but is otherwise unharmed and merely chuckles again. He runs his tongue suggestively across his teeth. Dean shoots him twice more.

 

“Dean.” Sam insists quietly. “That’s not helping.”

 

“Sure as hell makes me feel better though.” Dean mutters in response, his insides twisting up anxiously. Raising his voice he announces, “I can do this all night.”

 

Farinus continues to look unbothered by the threat. “We seem to find ourselves at an impasse boys. I cannot leave; nor can you harm me. But how long shall you hold me here before the wards fail? Death may come to this place sooner than you think.”

 

“I’ll stand here until the frigging apocalypse rains down on our heads if I have to.” Dean retorts. “But you’ve got to be stupider than you look if you think it’s going to take that long for an unsupervised angel to escape from wherever you have him stashed.” Cas is clever and a badass warrior; it’s a mistake for his enemies to take their eyes off him, even for a moment.

 

But Farinus throws his head back and laughs, effectively cutting Dean off. “He cannot escape us, you poor foolish child.” He bares his teeth in a savage grin. “Castiel is chained by the strength of his own words.”

 

His words, _those_ words, still resounding loudly in Dean’s mind. He doesn’t speak.

 

Sam does. “Us.” He lays the word out deliberately. “You’re not working alone. You have a partner.”

 

-

 

He has never had to concentrate so hard to ensure that his vessel continues to breathe. In and out, sharp and desperate until his oxygen blood levels return to normal. He drags his head up to glare at the figure standing before him, flexing his wrists and trying to tug them out of the restraints again. The thick ribbons of light forming the chains are the colour of papyrus, the soft almost delicate shade juxtaposed dramatically by the harsh lines of black ink that cover them, to the extent that the Enochian letters appear as if they are the chains themselves. There is no weakness, no give to them as he pulls experimentally; his wrists remain bound, stretched out above either side of his head; his ankles bound together, the tips of his shoes barely grazing the floor; his torso braced by several overlapping loops as though anchoring him to an invisible ballast, suspending the majority of his weight upright. He suspects that his posture mirroring being bound to a crucifix is intentional. The floor beneath him is overrun with rosemary, the scent of the flowers filling the room.

 

Castiel draws a steading breath and addresses the other being in the room. “Where are you keeping me?” The bonds tied around his vessel are also pressed into his grace, keeping his true form the equivalent of blindfolded and trussed up in a too small space. The sensation is extremely disorientating.

 

The goddess ignores his question, raking her fingers through his hair in an almost tender gesture. “I still cannot quite believe this stroke of fortune. Every deity aware of the Judeo-Christian Apocalypse has heard whispers of the rebel angel that defends the vessels.” She removes her hand and takes a step back to better survey him. “You certainly do live up to your reputation, Castiel.”

 

“My friends have Farinus.” He reminds her; the god had vanished a short time ago, clearly summonsed by the ritual he had been planning to perform. “It will only be a matter of time before they find me.” He is fairly certain the goddess is still holding him in Texarkana; it would have been easier for her to shrink the boundaries she was already maintaining rather than relocate them elsewhere.

 

“Farinus is inconsequential.” She smiles benignly at him. “In exchange for his services, I offer him protection. He may perform the initial enchantment but when that one particular truth is spoken, I am the one who feeds.”

 

Castiel does not want to discuss the feeding, lest it stir her hunger again. But though the language roulette had ended once he had spoken English again – he suspects the trick had been engineered this way – he is still compelled to the truth as long as Farinus is alive. “You feed on the life energy of your victims. That’s why the humans died so quickly. But I am an angel.” He is dismayed when this last sentence sounds more plaintive than he intended it to. He _is_ an _angel_.

 

The goddess understands his meaning. “You are unique, balanced upon the brink of what you are and what you could be. Not purely angelic enough to be immune, and fallen enough to be susceptible to the feeding.” She reaches out, running the tip of her index finger over the words shackling his wrist. Her next words are rapturous. “You will sustain me for an age.” She smiles beatifically at him. “It’s poetic, that you will deliver me from the very apocalypse that your brethren intend to wreak.”

 

Castiel jerks his wrist minutely, twisting it away from her touch. Inky letters bite into his flesh, bruising against his grace. His wings judder invisibly behind him at the sensation. He is not expecting the words that leave his lips and this self-betrayal stings worse than the movement does. “I will not let you pervert my feelings into something to be ashamed of.” His feelings for Dean are _not_ a weakness, no matter what his brothers believe, but it hurts that the circumstances of discussing it with Dean was taken out of his control.

 

She hums lightly as she withdraws her hand, still looking delighted. “Oh, you guarded that truth so preciously. That’s what made your words so potent, you know. The most powerful statements are the unspoken thresholds that herald change.” She licks her lips, a clear sign that her temporarily sated hunger is returning. “And what a change this will have wrought.”

 

Cas has been trying his best not to think about this. Helpless anger floods him. “Regardless of how you have affected my friendship with Dean as a result of your schemes, you will not live to know it.” He catches his breath before adding coldly, “I will watch you die, and all you will know in that moment is fear.”

 

Her expression darkens at the threat, contorting her features sharply. All of her teeth elongate into predator’s incisors, her eyes turn a metallic silver, and her fingernails, coloured the same shade, grow long and thin until they resemble needles. They click against each other as her hands flex, unable to manoeuvre into clenched fists anymore. “Even if your human discovers where to find you, there is nothing he can do to reach you.” She extends one claw, touching the tip of her nail to his collarbone and drawing it up his neck in a straight line until she reaches his chin, tipping it up and holding it there. “I have nothing to be afraid of, angel. But you do. Tell me Castiel, are you scared?”

 

He stares back at her defiantly. “I am frightened, but I am a soldier. I will show you no fear.”

 

“Then you will show me pain.” She draws her hand back and with one swift motion plunges her silver nails through his throat, into his vocal cords.

 

Castiel screams, both with the mouth of his vessel and his true form. His life force leeches out, light spilling out from a vertical line down his throat. The goddess absorbs the light through the skin of her fingers where her hand is positioned at his neck. As she soaks up the energy the centre of her chest glows brightly in tandem. Castiel screams and screams until she has drunk her fill and tears her nails back out from his throat. He shudders limply within his restraints, head dropping down as he struggles for breath. New shoots of rosemary bloom on the floor beneath him.

 

-

 

The Winchesters both withdraw to the far side of the warehouse to talk over this new development. They get no further than a dreadful unanswered silence after the question of what to do now when Gabriel appears beside them.

 

“Castiel is being held by a liminal deity.” He informs them, his tone low and serious. “They preside over thresholds, over the crossing of boundaries.”

 

Boundaries. Something that has been bothering Sam suddenly makes sense. “That’s why Cas couldn’t leave Texarkana.” Abruptly, he realises that this also explains another detail of the curse. “And that’s what all of the places where the truth spells originated from had in common. The victims were passing through gates and doorways when they were affected.”

 

Dean is entirely uninterested in this presently and rounds on Gabriel. “What the hell are you doing here?” He hisses. “Go and get Cas!”

 

Gabriel gives him an unimpressed look. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do since he was caught? And before you ask: yes, I know where he is.” He holds up a finger to forestall the anticipated outrage. “ _But_. That’s not the problem. The problem is the impenetrable protective wards surrounding his location.”

 

“Impenetrable even for you?” Sam asks quietly, without censure.

 

“ _Liminal deity_.” Gabriel repeats. “Barriers are kind of their thing. And yeah, usually it would be a snap for me to unravel one. But this particular one is being anchored by Castiel; it’s the weight of his words that’s powering the whole thing.” Gabriel exhales in a huff. “I’m not saying it’s impossible to breach. I just need to have a word with that word-worm over there.”

 

Both brothers relax slightly at this reassurance. Dean gathers up his courage to ask an important question, even though he is afraid of the answer. “Is Cas okay?”

 

Gabriel’s eyes slide to the side. “He’s alive.” He confirms tersely. “But he’s…hurting. Which is unacceptable.”

 

“Farinus said they were feeding off him.” Sam ventures carefully. “Is that even possible?”

 

“Angels are made of sound, Sammy.” Gabriel says darkly. “And Castiel is vulnerable, cut off from the host as he is. A seraph’s voice could sustain them indefinitely.”

 

Dean shoves down another spike of panic and tries not to think about what Cas must be going through right now. “So what do we do?”

 

Gabriel’s demeanour promptly shifts and he smiles widely. “First up, we crack open that barrier.” He says cheerfully. “Let’s go see what mister patron of speech over there has to say about that, shall we?” He strolls casually across the room to where Farinus waits, still unconcerned. The Winchesters flank him when he comes to a stop a reasonable distance away from the god.

 

“Trickster.” Farinus drawls contemptuously. “How truly pathetic of you; that one of your ilk would be found in the likes of their company.”

 

“Oh, I’m not here for these humans.” Gabriel says dismissively. “This is about Castiel.” His smile takes on a sharp edge. “Now. I need the name of its author, to cross that threshold. And you’re going to give it to me.”

 

Farinus just sneers at him. “It is indeed all about that angel. You think we would surrender him? No. We shall feast upon him for eternity and remain unscathed as this world ends.”

 

Gabriel’s expression shutters darkly, making him suddenly look as non-human as the brothers have ever seen him. There is a very distant echo of thunder, building slowly as though the sound is rolling in closer. Gabriel’s smile is still jagged, his tone laced with false levity. “I’ve got to give _some_ credit where it’s due.” He says blithely. “I mean, I could see the magic being worked on Castiel, but I didn’t know there were two of you involved. It’s very smart of your cohort, to supply all the heavy lifting in terms of the power behind the spells, but to ensure it was _your_ fingerprints being left all over it. Tidy.” Gabriel examines his fingernails, the movement a parody of the boredom Farinus is exuding. “You will tell me the name of the god who has Castiel. Which one is it, hmm? Who has strayed from their service of Janus?”

 

“I shall not reveal my superior’s identity to you, _Trickster_.”

 

At the disdain in the god’s voice, Sam and Dean exchange glances. They realise that Farinus doesn’t know what Gabriel really is.

 

Gabriel’s words are clipped and deliberate as he continues. “Who guards this threshold? Is it Limentinus? Lima? Cardea? Forculus? Which one?” Farinus does not budge. “I want their name.” There’s another, louder rumble of thunder, prompting Farinus to frown slightly as he turns his head towards the direction of the sound. But before anyone can say anything, Gabriel flinches, cringing in response to something that the rest of them cannot hear before he goes very still. “I can _feel_ my little brother screaming.” Gabriel says darkly.

 

The god’s eyes widen. “Angel.” He croaks, unnerved for the first time since he was summonsed. He twitches and the sigil he is bound within sluggishly pulses with light, as if Farinus had just attempted to test its hold on him.

 

Gabriel’s eyes narrow at the escape attempt. Then he unexpectedly reaches out and grabs both Sam and Dean by their earlobes. They yelp in unison.

 

“Hey!” Dean barks but he goes quiet at the dangerous expression on Gabriel’s face.

 

Gabriel turns his attention back to the god before them, taking half a step forward without releasing either Winchester. His eyes glow bright, first with a rich golden light before it shifts into the more familiar silvery-blue grace of an angel. Then he opens his mouth and –

 

**SPEAKS**

 

The god screams, collapsing to the ground and clawing at his ears, which start to bleed. Sam and Dean feel a shiver race through them, the hairs on the back of their necks prickling. The ears not being held by the archangel tingle uncomfortably, but that’s the extent of the effect that his true voice has on them.

 

Farinus is another story entirely. He moans piteously, attempting to pull himself up onto his knees. He casts a look at Gabriel that encapsulates the term ‘fear of god.’ Gabriel is unmoved, permitting Farinus to wallow in his dread for a brief period. Then he –

 

**ENUNCIATES**

 

Farinus screams again, writhing in pain. He clamps his hands over his ears though blood continues to drip through his fingers. Both Winchesters feel their skin prickling uncomfortably, as though they have pins and needles all over and they fidget slightly, careful not to dislodge Gabriel’s hold on them as they do so.

 

The god’s screams peter off into a low, drawn-out groan and he curls in on himself. “No, no.” He whines. “Please.”

 

There is another boom of thunder, this time directly overhead. The room grows dark as Gabriel seems to exude a luminous aura. Sam and Dean feel movement behind them, air rippling out from the archangel’s back as he spreads his wings. And Gabriel –

 

**COMMANDS**

 

Farinus arcs his body back as though every nerve in his chest has just caught fire. His eyes roll back in his head and the skin of his ears blister in such a way that the cartilage seems to be melting. “Lima!” Farinus screeches. “The name you seek is Lima!”

 

Gabriel regards the Roman deity with a righteous and terrible wrath. _**“Thank you for speaking with me."**  _Lightning hurls down from above and strikes Farinus. The burst of light is so great that Sam and Dean squeeze their eyes shut. Farinus is uncharacteristically noiseless; the only sound is the crackle of electricity and the roar of thunder.

 

Only after quiet falls upon the room again does Gabriel release their ears and they tentatively open their eyes. The light levels in the room have returned to normal. In front of them, the sigil has been reduced to smears of chalk dust and at its centre the only remaining sign of Farinus is a scorch mark, still sizzling.

 

Gabriel stands there, mild and unassuming, with his arms folded across his chest. He sighs softly, as if he’s just finished reading a large book with a dissatisfying ending as opposed to raining holy judgement down upon a minor god. “Right then.” He announces simply. “Let’s go and save Castiel.” He reaches out, lays his hands on each Winchester’s forearm, and they all vanish from the room.

 

-

 

The three of them reappear an instant later on the street outside a large building. Sam and Dean both shake their heads to try and clear an odd ringing from them. It makes them think of glass vibrating in the moment before it shatters. This has never happened when they have travelled via angel before.

 

“What was that noise?” Sam asks.

 

Gabriel grimaces. “Castiel.” He ignores the dark looks they exchange and examines the building in front of them, raising one hand out before him, spreading his fingers as if plastering them against an invisible wall. A warm glow emits from his fingertips.

 

Sam glances at the building. “Where are we?”

 

“Texarkana’s Federal building.” Gabriel responds. “It occupies both states, you know. This street – ” he taps one foot pointedly against the ground “ – is practically a line that separates the Texas and Arkansas sides. Perfect location for a liminal deity to camp out. They’re in the basement.”

 

Dean twitches impatiently, swallowing back another dose of concern and assesses Gabriel’s outstretched hand. “How long is it going to take you to get in?”

 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. This is the easy part.” Gabriel’s eyes flash with light and he tilts his hand counter-clockwise, curling his fingers slightly. “Farinus gave me her name, which is kind of like handing me a skeleton key. It’s more straight forward to pick the lock than to break the door down by force. Takes finesse for her not to notice me though, even if she is, erm, preoccupied at the moment. Once we’re inside, that’s when the hard fun begins.”

 

“How do we kill her?” Dean asks.

 

“Inside jacket pocket.”

 

Sam awkwardly reaches over Gabriel’s shoulder and fishes out a slender stick about a foot long. He turns it over in his hands and frowns questioningly at the archangel.

 

“Branch from a mulberry bush.”

 

“Dude, I could snap that in half.” Dean protests dubiously.

 

“Trust me.” Gabriel insists. “I harvested it myself; it’ll work. Now listen up boys. This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to cast a little illusion on you both, render you somewhat unnoticeable.” Gabriel itches to quip about how they’d both be used to that, but decides to let it go to avoid wasting time with the unavoidable bitching the remark would cause. “Then when we’re inside, I’m going to do what I’m best at: make a nuisance of myself. Sam, you wait for an opening, then stab her. Simple as that.”

 

“And me?” Dean prompts warily.

 

Gabriel’s lip curls. “You get to be Castiel’s white knight, Dean Bean. His words got him into this mess. You’ll need to use your words to get him out of it. I know that might be difficult for you, but try, yeah?” Dean glares and Gabriel rolls his eyes before elaborating. “ _Whatever_ Castiel said, you’ll need to address it. He has to cross that threshold before Sam can shiv the goddess. Doesn’t matter what you say, so long as it’s the truth. _Do not lie, Dean_. Or Castiel will die with her. Understood?”

 

Dean, pulse racing and his throat tight, merely nods.

 

Gabriel lowers his hand. “Good. Oh, and once Castiel is freed, her awareness of that will trigger her notice of you, just so you know. Ready or not, here we go.” He spins on his heel to face them and jabs two fingers to each of their foreheads. Both Sam and Dean feel like someone has just upended ice water down their backs and they shudder. Then he snaps his fingers and the world shifts around them again.

 

Sam and Dean find themselves on opposite sides of a large basement, the floor covered in rosemary. Off to Dean’s right on the far side of the room is Cas, strung up and struggling for breath, his eyes closed. Dean bites back the instinct to shout his name, especially when the woman standing there him reaches out and tenderly trails her long nails down the side of the angel’s face in a mock caress. Cas weakly jerks his head aside and she sighs fondly.

 

“Lima!” Gabriel calls across the room, his tone jovial. “I heard you caught an angel. Feel like sharing?”

 

Castiel’s eyes blink open at the sound of his brother’s voice and he tries to pick his head up, straining feebly against his bonds. The goddess spins around, startled and outraged at the invasion. “Trickster.” She snarls as she takes a step towards him, oblivious to the Winchesters standing against either wall in the space between them. She pauses then, reassessing. “No. Not just a Trickster. Your boundaries are fluid, folded upon themselves.” She almost looks disturbed. “What are you?”

 

Gabriel’s grin is all teeth. “I’m a labyrinth.”

 

Rage overtakes her features. In an unnaturally fast movement she is across the room, claws descending through the space where Gabriel’s throat had been moments before; he side steps her just as swiftly without effort. She twirls to lunge for him again and he easily skips back out of her reach. A strange dance unfolds between them, Lima chasing and Gabriel evading, no physical contact between them despite how closely their bodies come to each other. Sam watches with fascination despite the urgency of the situation. He wonders whether Gabriel’s current movements are a reflection of how the archangel would have usually done battle when he was still a warrior of Heaven.

 

Dean all but runs over to Cas, trusting that Gabriel’s sleight of hand and Lima’s preoccupation with the Trickster will keep him from drawing attention as he does so. He reaches for Cas, one hand settling on the angel’s forearm and the other sliding up to cup his face and turn it towards him.

 

“Dean,” Cas murmurs, eyes flickering shut again.

 

Dean hushes him gently. “It’s okay. Hang on, buddy, I’ve got you.” Dean tries to grab the strange chain wrapped around Cas’s wrist but his fingers pass through it, the bonds that hold Cas intangible to Dean.

 

“Dean.” Cas whispers again, as though Dean’s name is the only word that exists in his vocabulary. He lets his weight lean against Dean trustingly and Dean swallows, unable to shake the notion that the act is a metaphor for Cas placing his fate in Dean’s hands.

_Use your words_ , Gabriel had said. _Do not lie_.

 

“You love me.” Dean starts, feeling heat burn in his face and across the back of his neck. “You’re, uh, _in_ love with me.”

 

“Yes.” Castiel says, as if it’s that simple.

 

There are words he should use, ones he wants to use. They tangle up inside of him. He opts for an easier response. “Me too.”

 

Castiel’s eyes snap up to meet his, widening hopefully. “You’re in love with me?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Maybe it really is that simple, Dean realises. As soon as he’s spoken the symbols written into the chains dissolve, black ink morphing into blank space, which eats away at the chains like an invisible flame set to paper. Cas practically falls into Dean’s arms when his bonds go slack, the chains furling up and then vanishing completely.

 

Lima whirls around instantly, her attention honing in on Dean as he tries to help Cas get his feet under him. “No!” Her eyes are wild and desperate. “He is mine!” She shifts her weight forward as if about to lunge at them. Dean tenses, folding himself protectively around Cas.

 

Gabriel seizes the goddess by her hair as she goes to move. He heaves her back towards him easily, supporting her entire weight as he lifts her from the floor and spins her in an arc around him. “Here we go round the mulb’ry bush,” he sings playfully as he throws her, launching her across the room. She collides with the far wall with a loud thud, the wall crumbling slightly under the force of it. Lima slides down almost gracefully, landing on her feet. She screams wordlessly at Gabriel and rushes into his space, talons bearing down towards his neck. Gabriel catches both of her wrists in his hands and twists her around, putting her back to Sam. Sam takes the opening, wielding the branch like he would a blade and driving it into her back. The branch pierces clean through to the other side of her chest, the tip stained with blood. White light begins to spill from the wound.

 

Sam pulls the branch back out as he steps back and Gabriel kicks her legs out from under her. Lima drops to her knees, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth as she chokes. Gabriel’s eyes glow with heavenly power as he looms over her. He leans in closer to her until their noses are almost touching, their eyes locked on each other’s, neither blinking. Then a sharp flash of light seems to originate from the archangel; wing-like shadows flicker across the wall behind him, the shapes undefined and fluid as though the bones that form them are made of lightning.

 

Lima’s eyes go wide, horror swiftly taking over her expression. She recoils, thrashing in an attempt to get away from Gabriel even as the light from her wound begins to spread, sizzling across her chest. Gabriel doesn’t budge his grip. The goddess gives a scream of pained fury as the light consumes her body before a soft explosion renders her into a cloud of silver dust. All of the rosemary in the room follows suit, withering up and becoming ash which decorates the floor in a pattern that unmistakably resembles a labyrinth. Sam looks from the lines at his feet to Gabriel and raises his eyebrows.

Gabriel shrugs nonchalantly, dusting his hands off and strutting over towards where Dean and Castiel are standing, still clinging to each other. “You okay, bro?”

 

Cas nods slowly. “I thought you said you weren’t going to help me?”

 

“Eh.” Gabriel says airily. “I was bored.”

 

Cas doesn’t believe this for a moment. “Thank you.”

 

Gabriel wrinkles his nose at his brother’s quiet sincerity. He shifts his gaze to Dean instead, who resists the urge to squirm at the scrutiny, very aware of his arm around Cas’s waist, his palm pressed into Cas’s hip. Gabriel’s sly smile doesn’t help. “Nice work, Winchester. Got to admit, I’m impressed.” And Dean is absolutely certain that he’s not going to like the next words out of Gabriel’s mouth. “Who knew you’d handle Castiel’s declaration as honestly as you did. Guess you’re not as emotionally stunted as I thought.”

 

Dean and Sam both narrow their eyes accusingly at him. Cas narrows his eyes too, though more so out of confusion.

 

Gabriel ignores their reactions and claps his hands together as he focuses on Cas again. “So! Quick test then, just to make sure your tongue is back under your control. Who’s your favourite brother?” Gabriel beams expectantly at him.

 

“Zachariah.” Castiel deadpans. “Raphael. Michael. Certainly not you.”

 

“Ouch!” Gabriel places a hand on his chest. “I am wounded!” He laughs. “Well boys, this has been fun. I think we should wrap this little adventure in the traditional manner, don’t you? The princess and his damsel in distress shall affirm their true love, whilst we warriors partake in a magnificent feast in our honour.” As Castiel opens his mouth to speak Gabriel snaps his fingers and both Cas and Dean vanish. Sam huffs, rounding on Gabriel in exasperation. “Relax,” the Trickster drawls. “I just sent them back to the motel room. Figured they could use the privacy. You know, to _talk_.” Gabriel smirks and wiggles his eyebrows.

 

Sam ignores the innuendo. “You said Dean had to tell truth or Cas would die.”

 

“I lied.” Gabriel unashamedly reveals. “Come on, Sam, they’ve been doing this dance for ages. What good would it have done for Dean to deny he feels the same? Cas would have agreed to pretend he never said anything if Dean preferred that, and they’d have both been miserable about it. You think I want to spend all my free time being trailed after by my broken-hearted little brother, listening to him sob about his love life?” Gabriel sniffs haughtily. “Besides, if Dean had broken Castiel’s heart, I’d have to break his face. On principal. This was more efficient.”

 

He fights back a grin, but he can tell that Gabriel knows he’s amused by the posturing. “I guess your lesson about communication was slightly off.” Sam offers wryly. Considering that Gabriel had brought the matter up originally, he’d done plenty of misdirection himself.

 

Gabriel raises an eyebrow at him. “You think so, huh?” He pauses. “If Dean and Castiel had talked about their epic love story sooner, Lima wouldn’t have been able to feed off him.” He sighs, staring off into the distance for a moment, his expression ancient and terribly sad. “Before Lucifer Fell, all the angels were honest. We were honest, Sam. We would sing in chorus and our hymns were true. After the Fall, some angels…like me…changed our songs to suit our new truths.” Gabriel tries on a thin smile that doesn’t really work. “But to keep a secret unspoken is to not sing at all.” His smile grows softer, more affectionate and real. “Castiel has always sung a tune all his own, and keeping silent is not a trait he excels at. It’s better that he doesn’t have to stay quiet about how he feels anymore.”

 

Sam considers him thoughtfully. “You’re actually a pretty decent big brother.”

 

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Fear not. Once it sinks in that I’ve swapped out his pining for heart eyes, I’m sure regrets will be had.”

 

“Uh huh.” Sam smiles at him, unconvinced, but decides to cut him some slack and changes the subject. “So, what was that you said about the magnificent feast in our honour?”

 

Gabriel grins. “How do you feel about gelato?”

 

-

 

Dean is exasperated by the sudden change in venue but he’s not really surprised. Gabriel is not a subtle guy. He tugs Cas around, pushing and pulling until he manages to get the angel seated on the couch, patting him over for injuries. “You sure you feel okay, buddy?”

 

“Yes.” Cas says carefully, as though testing out his words. After having grown slightly accustomed to the previous compulsion for honesty, he adds, “I feel slightly drained. Grounded to my vessel.” He offers a small smile. “But I will be fine.”

 

“Good.” Dean sighs with relief, lets his hand settle on Cas’s shoulder. “You had us all really freaking worried.” Cas murmurs another apology and Dean waves his free hand. “Hey, it’s done with now. We can forget about it.”

 

Cas’s smile vanishes. “Of course.”

 

It takes Dean a moment figure out why Castiel has suddenly turned stone-like beneath his fingertips. “Those Roman parasites and their curse.” He clarifies hastily. “They aren’t important. But, what you said, that’s good. And. What I said.” Dean knows he’s blushing but he perseveres; Cas is more important than any amount of embarrassment he feels. “I meant what I said, Cas.” The angel begins to relax again but his expression is still hesitant, as though worried that Dean will revoke the words. At first, Dean doesn’t know what he can say to assure Cas that’s not going to happen. Then he decides that there’s been enough _talking_ about their feelings for each other at this point. Dean’s much better at _doing_ something anyway. “Can’t believe I’m actually saying this but, Gabriel may have had a point.” This certainly surprises Cas enough to distract him from his concern. “When he suggested we resolve this, you know, traditionally.”

 

“I don’t understand.” Castiel lies quietly. Gabriel has certainly taken the time over the past few weeks to reiterate this reference. He looks up at Dean with hopeful anticipation.

 

Dean doesn’t disappoint him, shifting his hand up to curl around the back of Cas’s neck as he leans down. Cas surges up into the kiss as soon as it begins, as if he has been waiting for Dean to commit to wanting it. Dean buries his other hand in Cas’s hair as he deepens the kiss, a sigh catching in his throat as Cas’s hands find his waist and grip tightly. They make out for a while, trading kisses and smiles between them.

 

Eventually Dean’s back begins to protest about the angle he’s bent at. He pulls back and convinces Cas to let him go for long enough to fetch them some beers. He snags the TV remote as he makes his way back to the couch, intending to put a movie on as they often do after winding up a case, even though he doesn’t really think they’ll watch anything once their beers are finished. When he turns on the TV, however, he finds the opening sequence of an animated movie where a baby girl is being introduced to a young prince. He stifles a groan without bothering to change the channel; he suspects this movie is suddenly on _every_ channel. Gabriel may think he’s amusing, but he’s not.

 

When Castiel very deliberate shifts an inch closer so they are pressed together, his attention on the television even as he tugs at Dean’s hand to interlock their fingers, Dean decides he doesn’t really mind all that much anyway.

 

-

 

(On the other side of Texarkana, in an ice-cream store that they’ve technically broken into – though he still maintains it doesn’t count because he’s merely using it as a backdrop for his pocket universe and the store itself is unaffected by their presence – Gabriel grins around a spoonful of chocolate caramel gelato. The Swan Princess is an inspired choice really; a beautiful, feathered damsel afflicted by a curse, a hero whose story arc involves addressing his verbal incompetence, and a vow of love that both complicates matters and saves the day. His genius sometimes astounds even himself.)

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> -
> 
> Castiel’s language roulette is as follows:
> 
> Enochian: “You know I love him.”  
> Greek: “Do not blame him for things that are beyond his control.”  
> Russian: “Brother?” / “What have you done?”  
> German: “Yes.” / “I wanted to guard you against the demons in your nightmares.”  
> Armenian: “My beautiful protector.” / “I will never regret choosing you.”  
> Turkish: “I like to be close to you.”  
> Croatian: “If you could understand me, would you listen?”  
> Portuguese: “You are a petulant child.”  
> Hungarian: “Do you expect me to be grateful?” / “I’m not grateful.”  
> Romanian: “Why are you here?”  
> French: “Yes.”  
> Spanish: “A rite of purification.”  
> Swahili: “I would like to hold your hand.” / “There is not much here. There is no comfort in this either.”  
> Italian: “Dean, you are a genius. I sing your praises.” / “My wings sing with the colours of my faith in you. Yet my music still fails to capture the beauty of your heart.”  
> Ukrainian: “The curse is powerful enough to bind a falling angel.” / “My movements are limited.”  
> Japanese: “You are a very good friend, Sam. Sometimes I believe I do not deserve your kindness. But I’m glad to know you.”  
> Bulgarian: “Do not speak to me about the other angels then.” / “They may be my family, but they are ignorant. Especially Zachariah.” / “His song will become a symphony of silence when we achieve victory.”  
> Hindi: “You still do not believe that you are worth saving.” / “But you are.”  
> Arabic: “To keep your soul safe, I would let my wings burn.”  
> Latin: “My heart is yours.”  
> Dutch: “Everybody knows.” / “But I left it unspoken between us.”  
> Chinese: “You are my very important person.” / “I know you do not want me to tell you. I cherish your happiness over my own. So I keep silent.”  
> Korean: “Silence is currently impossible. My honesty is a compulsion. I have to tell you.”  
> Polish: “The light of my grace shines with my affection for you.”  
> Slovak: “I want to kiss you. I want…I feel.” / “I have feelings for you.”
> 
> The summoning chant for Farinus is in Greek: “Through the gift of speech, we invite you. With the words you gave us, we restrict you. With the fluid of life and the flames of our curse, we command you. As these hands were marked for death, they now hold you here. Until death comes to this place.”
> 
> I did a little bit of map research on the twin cities while I wrote this. Some of the other Texarkana locations that I used should correspond to: (Arkansas): Rondo Cemetery; Miller County Medical Examiner & Coroner; Verona Restaurant; and Hopkins Icehouse; (Texas): Park Diamond Jewelers; and Pleasant Grove High School.
> 
> Dean and Sam are using the aliases Tyler and Perry – Steven Tyler & Joe Perry from Aerosmith.
> 
> In context, Farinus uses ‘antimeria’ to mean ‘change part of speech’ referring to Castiel switching languages.
> 
> Concerning the liminal deities: “The greatest god of the doorway was Janus, the two-faced god who could see forward and backward…Janus was joined in his service to the threshold by Limentinus, Lima, Cardea, and Forculus.”
> 
> The Swan Princess movie Gabriel picks is the 1994 animated version.
> 
> -


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